Deviant Behavior
by KK1522
Summary: Just a casefile I think they should do... A body is found in a pool, and there's a plethora of evidence, but is it really going to be that easy? Ch. 5
1. Before the Who

It's Deviant Behavior for the new year!  Ok no, seriously, I had to revamp this fic cuz I took to long to update it, and plus, I didn't like how it read before.  So I hope you guys enjoy the "updated" version, and hopefully I'll have a new chapter up within the next few weeks…Have fun!

Read on!

_* * * * * * * _

_Laughter echoes through the air. Decisive thuds of stumbling movements are drowned out by music. The acrid stench of alcohol and sweat circulates throughout the open house—but nobody seems to mind. _

_Music is playing in the background._

_The rhythmic pulses of the bass are felt through the floor._

_The house is fairly crowded, but again, nobody seems to mind._

_The clock strikes __midnight__._

_* * * * * * * _

"W-what timeisit?"  The young woman slurred.

"Time for you," the young man she was talking to, took the drink out of her hand.  "To take a break," he smiled at her.  She looked at him for a moment, before giving him a lopsided grin.   

"Really?" she drawled, reaching across to touch his hand.  He gave a small laugh.

"Yea," he took a swig of his drink, and looked around the room.  She continued to rub her fingers along the palm of his hand.  He looked at her.  She smiled seductively.

"So?" she hinted, her eyebrows raised in a teasing manner.  He studied her for a moment.

"So?" She grinned at his innocence.  She looked from him to behind him—towards the back door.  He followed her eyes, and glanced over his shoulder.  He turned back to look at her with a grin on his face.  She smiled back at him, and curled her hands around his.

"C'mon," she whispered, walking past him.  

He obediently followed, setting his drink on a nearby window side table.  She slowly slid the door opened, and stepped outside into the warm summer night air.  She breathed deeply—the fresh air felt good in her lungs, after the stuffy atmosphere of the house.

"Mmm.  Much better," she remarked quietly, running her hand through her brown hair.  Her eyes strained in the illuminated darkness.  Her eyelids felt heavy, and it was almost an effort to keep them open.  She felt his presence behind her.

"Mmm, what is?" he whispered, leaning into her. 

She giggled softly as he nibbled on her ear.  She ran her hands through his hair, feeling the damp skin on his scalp.  His hands began to drift down to the belt buckle on her pants.  She quickly grabs his hands and pulled away from him.

"C'mon," he pleaded, hooking his finger on her back belt loop.   She paused, then turned around slowly.  She didn't fight as he pulled her closer.  

"Mmm," he mumbled, biting his lip.  She smiled coyly; wrapping her arms around his neck.  He smiled, and leaned in slowly.

When they separated, she licked her lips slowly, releasing her hands from around his neck.  He gave her a questioning look as she backed away from him.  She ran her hand down his arm, and grabbed onto his hand and pulled gently in her direction.  He shuffled forward obediently.

She dropped his hand, but continued to step backwards, until she felt the deck railing against her back.  She gave a shallow breath as she rested her body against the railing.  He emerged from the shadows, and leaned into her.  

Pausing for a breath, his eyes glanced outward.  

Downward.  

Back at her. 

He smiled, and leaned in for another kiss.

But he stopped.

"What?" she asked, her eyes lazily watching him.  He wasn't looking at her.  

"What?" There was a hint of panic in her question.  He didn't answer her.  He was looking past her, at something on the ground.  

 His eyes strained in the darkness for a moment, before his face contorted into an terrified look.

"O my god," he rasped, righting himself upright.

"What?  What is it?"  She couldn't hide her fear.

"L-Lo-ok," he stammered, pointing downward onto yard below.  He could hear his breathing quicken, his heart already racing.  She turned her whole body around to get a better look.

At first she looked surprise.

Then the flash of terror crossed her face.

She screamed.

* * * * * * 

"If it isn't the Chain Gang," Brass remarked sarcastically as the three adults approached.  "You're late."

"No you're just early," Catherine remarked, setting her heavy briefcase down beside her.  Brass smirked.

"What do we got?" Grissom asked, pulling out his Maglite from his coat pocket.  

"419, called in around 12:30. Single victim, female, found in the pool," the policeman recounted.

"Time of death?" Grissom asked, looking over at the pool. 

"Coroner says to early to say, the temps all messed up 'cause of the pool.  Said they'll know more when they get back to the lab," Brass replied gruffily.  Grissom continued to eye the property.

"Anything else?"

"Aside from the narcotics we found and the underage drinking—no I'd have to say that's it."  Grissom gave him a look.

"I meant—any suspects?"

"Besides those two that reported it?  No."  Brass gestured towards the couple who were now being questioned by the police.  The three CSI's peered over at them.  Grissom pursed his lips together in thought.

"Anything else?"

Brass smirked.

"I'll let you know," he answered.  Grissom gave him another Look.  Brass put his hands up as if in defeat.  "It's all yours," he gestured towards the crime scene.  Grissom nodded.

He looked at the two females standing behind him.

"Alright—Sara I want you—."

"Down at the pool deck, I know."

"And you want me to question the 'suspects'," Catherine supplied, picking up her briefcase.  "We know," she answered his questioning look.  "I'm the people person and she—takes good pictures."  The two females looked at him.  "We got it."

            It took him a moment to answer.

            "Ok?"

            "Ok," they simultaneously answered.  Catherine brushed by him, and headed over to the couple, while Sara headed over to the pool.

* * * * * *

            "We-we weren't outside very long," the man stammered, obviously shaken by what he had seen.

            "Yea—we were on the deck when Jarod saw it," the girl added.  "This is just—just horrible."  

            "Yea—murders usually are," Catherine interjected.  "Did you notice anything suspicious?"  The two looked at each other.

            "N-no, I mean, no.  We were inside the whole night before we came out on to the deck and saw—."

            "Did you touch anything by the pool?"  Catherine snapped on a pair of gloves.

            "N-no.  We-we called the police right after we saw it—did we do something wrong?" They both seemed nervous.

            "No—this is just standard procedure—to rule you two out as suspects.  Can you please hold out your hands?"  The two looked at each other in confusion.  "Palms up."  They sighed, and slowly put there hands out, palms up.

            "Ok," Catherine swabbed each of their palms.  "This is just a simple test," she added drops of phenolpthaline to the ends of the swabs.

            No reaction.

            "Well—no blood on your hands," they both looked relieved.  "Can you lift up your feet so I can see the bottom of your shoes?"

* * * * * * *

            "What do we got?" Grissom asked, as he approached a kneeling Sara.

"Multiple footprints in and around the pool deck.  Lots of different treads," she pointed them out, "And large blood drops all around.  They lead into the grass."

"Blood drops leading from the grass onto the deck."

"Yea—I'm thinkin' the killer did this somewhere else, and carried the body here, and dumped her in the pool."  

Grissom didn't say anything.  He peered around.

 "Did you check the filter?"

"Yea, I bagged and tagged it for the lab—preliminary check showed hair, dirt, and bugs."

"Hmm," he murmured, he had just noticed Catherine walking over.

"Hey—no blood on the suspects—hands or feet—and both were inside all night," she reported, her eyes wandering around the pool.  "Nice pool."

"It was," Grissom replied furtively.  Catherine looked at him oddly.

 "Hey Grissom—take a look at this," Sara called over to him. She was a few feet away from where he was standing.  She was kneeling on the ground, peering at something.  He gingerly walked over, making as sure not to disturb scene.

"There seems to be blood in these tread marks," she pointed out, snapping a picture.  Grissom followed the foottrail with his maglite.  In some of the larger prints, the dirt was stained almost black.

 "This print is walking away from the pool, not towards it," Sara mused.  She snapped another picture.

"Well, the victim didn't get up and walk out of the pool," Grissom remarked, studying the prints.

"Yea—well why leave this around, why not try to hide it?" Sara contemplated out loud, as she stood up from her kneeling position.  Catherine walked up from behind the two.  She looked down at the trail, then back at the pool.

"Well—either someone very unintelligent, who doesn't realize they just gave us the case, or—."

Grissom kneeled down closer to the ground.  He picked something up from out of the grass, and held it up in the light.   He smiled.

"They want to be found."

Should I countinue?


	2. Gravestones

A/N:  OK, I'm slow.  Here's chapter 2.

"Well, she didn't drown."

Grissom ran his eyes over the body slowly, studying the dead girl that lay before him.

He looked up.

"Why do you say that?"

Doc Robbins looked at the body, and then back up at him.

"Aside from that fact that no water was found in her lungs—take a look at this," he pointed to the neck wound.  Grissom leaned in to get a better look.

"Is it a through and through?"

"Not quite—but it did transect the trachea, and sever the jugular. 

Grissom mused over this information for a moment.

"Damage to the trachea would cause respiratory distress—but a bleeding jugular…," he didn't finish his thought.  

Doc Robbins looked at him.

"We'll know more after the X-ray."

Grissom nodded absentmindedly. 

"Anything else?"

"Several contusions to her face," Doc gestured towards the head.  "Nasal bone looks fractured, along with the Maxilla and the Orbital bone.  She took a pretty heavy beating."

Grissom looked over her face.  It was grotesquely mangled by the bruises, making her seem ill formed.

"You should take a look at these stab wounds."

Grissom looked up.

"Stab wounds?" 

Doc Robbins lifted up the blanket, exposing the corpse's torso.

"Five wounds in the chest area, all between the second and fifth rib, and two wounds to the stomach.  Looks like they were made with the same weapon."

Grissom studied the wounds for a moment.  

"These didn't kill her?"  He seemed perplexed.  Doc shook his head.

"Minimal to no bruising around the entry wounds," he looked back up at Grissom.  "These were made post mortem."

Grissom remained quiet—staring at the wounds.

Doc didn't say anything.

Grissom leaned in closer, this time looking down at the girl's arms and hands.  He looked back up at Doc.

"There's minimal defense wounds."

Doc shrugged.

"Killer must have snuck up on her—caught her from behind."

Grissom frowned.

"And before you ask—minimal tissue was found underneath the fingernails.  I sent it to the lab to see if anything could be recovered.  Who knows how much that pool destroyed," he shook his head.

"Hair and fiber?"

Doc shook his head.

"Nothing as of yet—but if I find anything, I'll send it out to Trace."

Grissom frowned again.

"Any evidence of rape?"

Doc shook his head again.

"Minimal tearing—looks like it's been about three months since she last had intercourse."

Grissom mulled over this—he squinted as if in thought.

"Seven stab wounds—made post mortem—one deep laceration to the neck—possibly fatal—but no weapon, no rape, no motive, no suspect."  

Doc looked at him.

"You don't sound too worried."

Grissom shrugged, giving a slight smile.

"Have they ID'd her yet?"

Doc Robbins nodded.  He picked up a file off the cart.

"One Elizabeth Delaney—twenty one years of age—resided at 15 Argonne Ave—Las Vegas, Nevada."  He handed Grissom the folder.  "ID'd her from dentals."  Grissom bit his lip as he read over the information.

Doc pulled the blanket back over the gray torso.

Grissom looked up.

"Says she's a junior over at UNLV—English Major—boyfriend maybe?"

Doc smiled, shaking his head.

"That's your job—not mine."

Grissom gave a slight grin, returning his eyes to the paper in front of him.

Then he twitched—as if he was startled.

Doc eyed him cautiously.

"Something wrong?"

"No." Grissom reached down into his lab coat.  "Beeper." He held it up in the light; as if to verify.

"Oh."

Grissom checked the message.

"I didn't hear anything."

Grissom put the beeper back, glancing at the doctor.  He gave a slight shrug.

"I know."

Doc watched him—concerned.

"You never have your beeper on vibrate."

Grissom looked down at the file he was holding.

"Is there something you want to talk about?"

Grissom glanced up.

 "No."

Doc frowned.  

The scientist closed the open file with his hand.

"That was Sara.  She needs me in the A/V lab," he pulled off his gloves.  "Let me know what else you find."

Doc continued to frown.

But Grissom didn't notice.  

He discarded his scrubs in the trashcan, and continued on his way out the swinging doors.

Doc just shook his head.

* * * * * * * *

The cool desert air felt refreshing after a long day of harsh sunlight.  However; it was only a matter of time before the temperature dropped to an uncomfortable coolness.

But for now—it was just right.

"Man—graveyards give me the creeps," Nick remarked, swatting some mosquitoes away.

Warrick looked at him.

He shined his flashlight on the other CSI's face.

"You deal with dead people for a living—and graveyards give you the creeps?"

Nick put his hand up to block the light.  Warrick dropped the light back onto the ground.

Nick shrugged.

"They scared me when I was a kid—guess it stuck."

Warrick shook his head.

"I think it's how quiet it is—I always feel like I'm disturbing something."

Warrick sighed.

"What are we out here for anyways?"

The other CSI looked around.

"Some punk kids knocked over some gravestones—we gotta find out whodunit."

Nick stopped in his tracks.  

"We get kiddie vandalism—while the other's get a homicide?  This is so not fair."

Warrick shined the flashlight at him again.

"You are one weird dude sometimes ya know that?"

Nick put his hands back up.

"Hey—watch it with that."

Warrick dropped the light.

"I just don't see why they need two of us out here—that's all."  Nick walked by, briefcase in hand.

Warrick grimaced—but Nick didn't notice.  He shined his flashlight on the fallen gravestone in front of him.

"Joseph P. McDaniel, 1978-1994," he said to himself quietly.  "Wow—he was only 16 years old."

"Huh?"

Warrick looked over at Nick.

The Texan was crouching over another fallen stone.

"Nothin'."

Nick didn't even look up.

Warrick cast his light around in the darkness.

Nick was right—the silence was creepy.

He gave a slight shudder, as if suddenly realizing it was cold.

He looked at Nick.

"You plannin' on pullin' any prints before it rains?"

Nick glanced over at him and made a face.

"Just hold on," he stood up from his crouched position.  "You got somewhere to be?"  He tossed a cylinder of powder over at Warrick.

Warrick scoffed, catching the canister with ease.

He shined his light on the cracked gravestone in front of him.

"Just don't wanna be here when it does rain."

Nick made another face at him.

"Just get to work."


	3. The Scientist

            A/N: I'm _sorry!!! I didn't know time passed by so fast.  I blink and its Friday…but anyways.  Well…a here's chapter three *coughfinallycough*. Sorry about the delay, and hopefully you'll still like it.  I promise Ch. 4 will be up quicker (mos def yo)…and I'm kinda pissed at ff.net and its formatting errors, but I guess I'll have to live with it.  Oi vey_

PS…I picked this certain song…cuz I seriously do think it pertains to the G/S situation.  Ok—so in my mind it works.

Read on!

*FLASH*

            Catherine stood up from her crouched position.

            She sighed, dropping the camera from her face.

            Thirty three blood stains and counting.  It was gonna be a long night.

            And it was already starting to get cold.  She gave a small shiver.

            She lifted the camera to her face.

            *FLASH*

            "Hey Catherine?"

            "Hey Jim," she glanced over her shoulder at the Homicide Detective.

            "Anything new?"

            She sighed.

            "O—just about several hundred more of these to go," she forced a smile.  Brass chuckled.  "You?"

            *FLASH*

            "Well—I've got some news for ya," he clapped his hands together.  She looked at him curiously.

            "Good—or bad?"

            "Well—it depends on how you look at it."

            "_Brass_."

            "Ok, ok," he put his hands up.

            *FLASH*

            "We talked to the owner of the house—and it seems we're in luck."

            She put the camera down.

            "How so?"  Brass pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket.  "There was a list."  

            Catherine's eyes went wide.  She took the paper.

            "A list huh."  She looked over it quickly.  "Can we trust it?"

            Brass shrugged.

            "Homeowner seemed ok—but you know how that goes—all I'm sayin' is—you've got a place to start now ok?

            She looked at it again.

            "Grissom will want this."  

            "Yea—I know," he took the paper back.  She picked up her camera.  

He watched as she resumed her job.

            *FLASH*

            "You know—it would go faster if you had some people to work with you."

            "Volunteering for the job?" She took a step forward.

            "Me? Wh—no.  I meant—."

            "Yea, that's what I thought."

            *FLASH* 

            "Just get that list to Grissom for me ok?"

* * * * * * * * **

"You rang?"  Grissom walked into the dark computer lab.

            He saw Sara sitting at one of the terminals in the back.  The screen flashing in front of her.

            "Sara?"

            He could see her fingers tapping the mouse as she waited.  

            And as he came closer, he could hear the soft hum of her voice.

            But he couldn't make out the song.

            "Sara?"

            She continued to tap.

            He walked closer, his head slightly tilted.

            The humming grew louder.

            He could almost make out the words.

            "_No—body said it was easy—."_

            Her fingers continued to tap, keeping in rhythm with the words.

            "_No one ever said it would be this hard—."_

            A small smile escaped his lips, as he leaned against the table next to her.

            "_Oh take me back to the sta—."_

            "Giving up already?"

            She flinched slightly—the tapping stopped.  As did the singing.

            Her chair creaked.

            "Uh—no not-not quite.  I a—see you got my page," she reached back and grabbed a manila folder off the desk behind her.  He remained quiet.  She handed the file to him.

            "I ran the prints through SLIP—and so far I got one match," she glanced at the screen in front of her.  "Prints found on the far side of the pool deck, near the bushes—match one shoe.  Sketchers—'Thrivers Supersuede.'  Women's size 9."  She looked at him.

            "Same as our vic."

            She nodded.  He glimpsed over the file in front of him.

            "Good work."

            She nodded in agreement—but remained quiet.

            "What about—."

            "The incriminating blood stained footprint?" His brow furrowed at her comment.  She grinned at his confusion.  "I'm running it through now.  Should just be a few more minutes."

             "Oh."

            "Yea." She looked back at the screen.  He glanced down at the file for a moment.  

            She started to hum again.

            The screen flashed by.

            "What song is that?"

            "Hmm?" She didn't look at him.

            He closed the file.

            "What song is that?"  He looked at her expectantly.

            After a moment, she glanced back at him.

            "O-a-um—it's a—by this band called—uh—Coldplay," she looked quickly between the computer and him.  "Greg recommended them."  She looked at him.

            He didn't say anything.

            She gave a small sigh.

"'The Scientist'," she finally answered, reverting her gaze back to the screen.

He gave a slight nod.

"Almost fitting—wouldn't you say," he smiled a little.  She looked at him for a moment.  Then back at the screen.  

She gave a tight lipped smile.

"You have _no idea," she mumbled._

He frowned slightly. He opened his mouth to say something—but then stopped.  He sighed.  

She continued to look at the screen.

He looked down at his hands.

"Sara—."

"What the hell."  The screen was now blinking.  

"What?" He leaned forward to get a better view.

"No match found," she clicked the mouse a few times.  "How is _that possible."  She glared at the computer screen._

Grissom propped his arm on the back of her chair while he looked at the monitor.

"Thousands of prints in the database—."

"Which means we should get a match," she tapped the desk angrily.  

He pursed his lips together in thought.

She started clicking through the different screens hastily.

"Wait—go back."

She stopped clicking.

"What?"

"Go back."

Her brow furrowed as she clicked a few buttons.

"There—stop."  He stared at the screen intently.  It was a large picture of the print.

"What?"

"Zoom in—there," he pointed at the screen.

She did.  

The picture came into focus.

She looked at the screen—and then at him.

He smiled.

"There you go,"  he stood up.  She looked back at the screen.

"It's just the logo."  

He raised an eyebrow.

"It's a start."

"But—."

"It's a start Sara."

"_Great."_

"No one ever said this was gonna be easy," he gave a slight smile as he picked up the manila folder.  She made a face at his comment.  He saw her look.  He sighed.

"Look—call the manufacturer, get a list of their shoes—find out why it's not in the database.  It's a start—right now—it's all we got." 

She sighed.

He walked towards the door.  She watched him go.

He turned around.

"Hey Sara?"

"Yea?"

"Coldplay?" 

She gave him a perplexed look.

"Yea?"    

He gave her a satisfied smile.

"Call me when you get something."

And he left.

* * * * * * * *

"Man—"  Nick stood up and stretched a little.  His legs were cramping.  "Are you getting' anythin'?"

"Yea," Warrick picked up his camera.

Nick mumbled something inaudible.

"What was that?"

"Nothin'—I'm-I'm just gonna look around for a bit," he picked up his flashlight.

"Uh huh.  That's what I thought," Warrick shook his head—but continued on with his task.

Nick shivered.  His light wavered as his hand shook.  He looked over at Warrick to see if he had noticed—he had not.   He sighed, rubbing his eye.

"Jeez," the bugs were really starting to annoy him.  The mosquitoes buzzing around were making him uncomfortable.

"The bugs aren't botherin' you?"  He looked over at his partner.

"Nope," Warrick didn't even look up.  Nick sighed again.  He looked out into the graveyard—but he couldn't see that much—only what the light fell on.

He scanned the ground a few feet in front of him.  Nothing.

He walked forward about ten paces.  The grass crunched beneath his shoes, breaking the silence of the open air.  He stopped.  Something had caught his eye.

He shined his flash light again.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it again.  A grin spread across his face.

Warrick looked up and saw his partner walking away.

"Where you goin'?" Nick put his hand up to quiet him.  Warrick made a face.  The other CSI stopped and crouched down beside a head stone.  Warrick watched him curiously. 

"You got somethin'?"  

            Nick didn't answer.

            "Nick?"

            Still no answer.

            "_Nick?" Warrick stood up slowly.  Nick finally looked over at him._

            "Get me a camera will ya?"

            "What'd you get?" 

            He didn't respond.

            "What'd you get?" Warrick was a little annoyed at his partner's lack of communication.

            Nick looked at him, and then back at the ground.

            He grinned.

            "O—just the answer to our case."


	4. Evidence

A/N: Sorry for my lack of updates…hopefully I haven't driven anyone away. But uh, between the end of school, other ideas, and plain old writer's block…this chapter has been hard to come by. Ever have that problem where you have the rest of the story mapped out…and u need that one chapter to fit it altogether? And it just won't come to you? Well that's the problem I had. And that's enough about me babbling.

Um, so now that we're finally back from commercial…here's chapter 4. I'm going to start referring to this fic as the "lost episode" of season 3. Just cuz. So um ya, read if you must, and reviews are always nice…(constructive criticism helps too!)

Read on!

* * * * * * * * *

"You're just mad cuz I found the case breaker."

Warrick looked at Nick.

"No—I'm mad cuz I just spent half the night tryin' to get prints off of nuthin—and my neck hurts."

He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He looked down.

"Plus—I got my shoes dirty."

"Aw ya big baby—would you like some cheese with that whine?"

Nick grinned at the other CSI as they continued to walk through the illuminated hallway. Warrick mumbled something inaudible back to his partner. 

Nick just shook his head.

They strode through the hallway, stopping only at the DNA lab.

"Let's see what our man Greg has for us, shall we?" Nick opened the door. "You first."

Warrick sighed, taking a step into the laboratory. Nick followed closely behind him.

"Hey Greg."

The young man sitting behind a microscope looked up.

"Hey guys." He sounded tired. He looked back down the microscope.

Nick and Warrick walked over to the table where he was seated. They looked expectantly at the Lab Tech.

Greg glanced up after a moment. He looked between the two.

"What?"

Nick gave a slight smile as he looked at Warrick, then back down at Greg.

"Got our results?"

Greg just stared at him. The two CSI's frowned.

"Hat—hair—DNA—any of this ring a bell?"

Greg thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"Sorry guys."

Nick sighed, as he leaned against the table.

"Sorry?"

Greg looked at him, shrugging slightly.

"Sorry—Days has me bogged down me with a triple murder suicide, and _three_ carjackings," he held up three fingers. "Plus—Grissom's pushed his case up—you're just gonna hafta wait."

"Wait?" Nick frowned. Greg nodded. 

"C'mon Greg—."

The Lab Tech shook his head.

"Sorry guys, no can do."

Nick stood up, sighing angrily.

"You're just gonna hafta wait—not even—not even a new copy of Vice City can help you."

Nick frowned again.

Greg shrugged innocently.

As Nick turned to leave, Warrick looked at Greg.

"Just call us when you get anything ok?"

The younger man nodded.

Warrick just shook his head, as he exited the lab.

"Now what?" Nick was leaning against the far wall. Warrick shrugged.

"Back to the scene? See if we missed anything?" 

Nick did not seem to like that answer. He didn't respond.

After a few moments of silence, they heard footsteps coming closer. Nick looked at Warrick, then glanced down the hall. They watched a figure approach.

"Hey boss." Nick nodded vaguely towards Grissom as he walked by. The older man glanced up from his notes—but kept walking.

"Hey," he continued down the hallway, seemingly lost in thought.

Nick and Warrick looked at him curiously.

Then they looked at each other.

They both shrugged.

Grissom paused in his step, as he turned around to face the two younger CSI's.

"Hey guys—have you seen Catherine?"

Nick looked at Warrick, then back at Grissom.

"Uh—you might try the Layout room," Nick pointed down the hall.

The older man thought about that for moment, then gave a slight nod as he continued on his way.

The two watched him for a moment—then looked at each other.

They both shrugged.

* * * * *

Catherine sighed as she surveyed the table in front of her. The once clean space was now cluttered with a numerous amount of photographs. She pushed her bangs behind her ear as she leaned over the table. 

"Where to begin," she muttered, scanning the glossy photos. She paused for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek; thinking. There seemed no clear way to begin. She sighed loudly.

"Might as well."

"Might as well what?"

She jumped slightly.

Her face contorted into a frown as she looked towards the door.

"Jesus Gil." Her breathing relaxed a little. Grissom gave a small smile, as he walked towards the table. He eyed her over his glasses.

"I knocked you know."

She rolled her eyes.

"Try making it so I can hear it next time."

Grissom just shook his head, letting the comment pass. He looked over the table.

"How many?"

She sighed again, picking up a photo.

"Hundred and nineteen—exactly."

Grissom raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Busy night then."

She looked at him.

"You have no idea."

He frowned. She tossed the picture back down on the table. He looked at the pile again. After a moment, he spoke.

"What do you know?"

She shook her head faintly.

"Right now, not much—except, where it happened."

"Oh?"  
That piqued his curiosity. She picked up a photo and handed it to him. He took it with one hand. 

"There was a shed, located about eighty feet from the pool, back at the edge of the property," she handed him another photo, a close-up of the shed. "The blood, along with the footprints, led us there." She picked up another picture.

"And as we moved around to the east side of the structure—we came upon this." She handed him another picture. He took it carefully. Apart from the yellow marker, designating it number one hundred and two; the picture was a sea of dark red. The ground was almost indistinguishable from the blood. 

He grimaced slightly. After a moment, he looked at her.

"Murder weapon?"

She shook her head.

"Nope—nothing was found in the immediate area—no signs of struggle—no weapon—just blood and footprints." She tossed another picture down. "But they've got dogs searching the premises—see if anything shows up." She pulled a photo out from under a pile. She studied the photograph for a minute.

"O—and Brass brought the hostess of this shindig in for questioning." She looked at him. "Speaking of which—have you talked to her yet?" He didn't look up. 

She kept staring.

After a moment, he glanced at her.

"I'm going to." He looked back down at the pictures.

He didn't budge.

She eyed him carefully.

"Soon?"

No response.

She stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed. She slowly reached over and took the pictures from him. He looked up in surprise.

"Well—when you finally do—please keep me informed." She set the photos down on the table. He gave a small smile. 

"Right." He took a step back towards the door. 

She watched him go.

"I'll call ya if anything comes up."

He nodded his approval. She turned back towards the table. Another sigh escaped her lips.

The door slowly closed behind him.

* * * * * *

"'Bout time you got here—don't tell me you got lost."

Grissom frowned as he closed the door behind him.

"Nice to see you too Jim."

The Homicide Detective smiled.

The older CSI looked through the one way window. 

"Who's this?" 

Brass gave a small cough.

"You get right down to business don't you." Grissom glanced at him. Brass coughed again. "Right—Gil Grissom, meet Susanne O'Connell," Brass gestured towards the adjoining room. "Resident of 434 Bradbury Way," he considered the young woman sitting in the next room; she was being questioned by a fellow detective. "She's the one who decided to throw this party." 

Grissom gave a slight nod. 

"She know anything?"

Brass shook his head.

"Says she was inside all night—havin' a good time—but doesn't remember much. One time she's on the couch, next thing she knows—cops are stormin' the place—and somebody's been found in her pool."

Grissom exhaled slowly.

"'Nothin like a dead body to ruin a good night."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at the detective.

"_Right_—did she know our vic?"

The detective nodded.

"Says they were friends."

Grissom studied the girl for a minute.

"She doesn't seem distraught."

Brass shrugged, looking at the girl.

"She didn't say _good_ friends."

Grissom glared at him.

The detective cast a sideways glance at the CSI, catching his glare in the process.

"What?"

Grissom just shook his head. 

After a moment, he looked quizzically at the cop.

"What about this 'list' I've been hearing about?"

Brass smiled again.

"There's the kicker. Apparently our hostess over there—likes to know who comes to her parties—so before anyone can enter—they have to sign a list that's out front."

Grissom looked at the woman.

"Odd."

Brass shrugged.

"Yea well—you call it odd—I call it our lucky break."

"Hmm, maybe—how many?"

"Seventy two."

Grissom bit his lip.

"Male?"

"Forty or so."

He pondered that for a moment.

"You know—there's a chance he might've not signed it. There's a chance he wasn't even at this party."

Brass sighed.

"But there's a chance he might have—it's a start—what else you got right now?"

Grissom shrugged. 

"Footprints."

Brass gave a small laugh, shaking his head.

"You're gonna need more than that you know."

Grissom just looked at him. Brass smiled.

The CSI looked back at the girl.

"Well—she's not a prime suspect—she can leave when she's done." He looked at the detective.

"I'll be sure to tell her that—where are you going?" 

Grissom paused as he stepped out the door.

"I have to see someone about a pair of shoes."


	5. Footwear

A/N: Not much to say here—'cept that the shoe I'm using—at the time I conceived this story—it hadn't been released yet.  However, as you might have guessed—it's on the market now.  That's what I get for being slow I guess.  Ah well.  Um, as always, read if you must, and reviews are always nice.  Constructive criticism helps.

Read on!!

* * * * * 

*CRUNCH*

She chewed slowly, holding the green apple a few inches from her face.  Her eyes were staring intently at the file that lay before her.  The tabletop was a mess of scattered papers.  

An organized chaos.

*CRUNCH.*

She took another bite; wiping her bottom lip with her finger.  The sounds of her chewing interrupted the quiet lounge.  Nary a soul was in there.  She flipped another page.

As she brought the apple to her mouth, she paused before taking a bite.  Her brow furrowed as her eyes read the sheet.  Her chewing stopped.  The apple quickly forgotten.  Her back straightened as she sat higher in her chair.  

A slow smile spread across her face.

"You've been busy." 

Her eyes looked over the paper, towards the doorway.  Her eyebrows shot up in semi surprise.

"Hey—I was just about to come find you."  She pushed her chair back, standing up from the table.  The file was still in her hand.

A tiny grin escaped his lips.

"Well—here I am."  He took a couple steps into the lounge.  She hadn't moved from the table; her eyes were still reading.  After a moment, she quickly glanced at him.

"Yea—yea you are—here, take a look at this," she handed him two sheets of paper as he walked closer.  He took them, rotating the paper as so he could read it.  He studied them for a moment.  She watched him, trying desperately to hide her own smile.

"Tell me you see it."  

No immediate response.

After a couple seconds, he looked up at her.    

"Good work."  A simultaneous smile spread across both their faces.  A soft sigh escaped her as she picked up another file.  She handed it to him.

"After hours of pouring over the information—which you see here," she gestured towards the table.  He glanced at it, then back at her.  "I was able to find a match to our print—which you are holding now."  He instinctively looked at the two diagrams he was holding.  On one side, was a photo of the print they had taken at the scene, on the other, a computer printout of a matching sole.  He looked back up at her.  She was still smiling.

"So?"

"So—the shoe you are holding belongs to Adidas—but you already knew that," he gave a slight nod in agreement.  She grinned.  "However—more importantly—or actually—more interestingly—is that, that sole— it matches the 'Adidas A3'—men's size 12."

His brow furrowed.

"And why wasn't it in the database?"

She grinned.

"I was hoping you were going to ask that," she picked up another file.  "That's what makes this shoe so interesting—take a look at this."  She handed him another packet.  

"What's this?" He glanced at the file quickly, then looked at her.

"Tha—that is the sales record from the distribution warehouse—dated about a month ago."

"Ok?"

She nodded towards him.

"Look at it."

He looked down.

"Ok—."

"It's in alphabetical order."  She walked around the table and stood next to him.  She pointed at the list of shoes.

"This sheet tell us the what, the when and the where—what shoes were being sold to the different companies, when they were being sold—and most importantly—_where_ they were being sold."

He glanced at her.

"Interesting."

She smiled.

"However—not as interesting as this—take a look at the list—what do you see?"

He squinted.  

"What am I looking for?"

"The A3."

He read the paper for a couple minutes.  She busied herself by moving some papers around on the table.  He flipped a page—then flipped it back.

"I don't see it."

She looked at him.

"You sure?"

He looked at the paper again, then back at her.  He nodded.

"Yes."

"Ha—good.  I was hoping you'd say that."  She took the paper back.

"Why?"  He seemed perplexed.

"Because—," she picked up another packet.  "The A3 wasn't on that list a month ago," she handed him the packet.  "It wasn't even on the list from two weeks ago."

He raised an eyebrow as he took the sheets of paper.

"What you have _there_—is the distribution list from one week ago—take a look at it—it's _slightly different."  She drummed her fingers on the table top as she waited for him._

It took him only a moment.  He looked at her.

"It's on here."

She nodded, her smile returned.  He looked back down at the paper.

"And what does that tell us?"

She pointed at the paper again.

"That tell us—that this particular shoe—began shipment only a week ago.  And you'll notice—that the Boulevardright here in Vegas—is the only mall in Nevada that has them at this very moment."

He frowned slightly.

"So any person of the public could have bought them by now?"

She shook her head.

"No—not yet.  You'll notice that the shipments are only going to busy commercialist areas.  New York, Boston, Chicago, LA, _Las Vegas_.  They haven't been sold to the smaller cities yet."

"So?"

"So—that tells me that—this shoe—has yet to make its debut to the public.  It's still sitting in the backroom of the numerous shoe stores out at The Boulevard**."**

He looked at her.

"And you know this for a fact—from the data."

She gave a small shrug.

"Well—that was a nice start—however after I found out that the shoes was only shipped a week ago—I called the company to verify."

"Ah."

She grinned.

"Yea—and I was told—without a doubt—that the shoe we have here—would not go on sale to the public—until the 15th."

He looked at his watch.

"That's what—a week from now?"

Her grin got wider.

"Exactly."

After a moment, he smiled.

"So now that we've got the shoe—can you tell me where they are?"

She picked up another sheet.

"Out of the ten shoe stores in the mall—I've narrowed it down to six—the rest were either just women's shoes—like Lady Footlocker—or just frilly business type shoes—the A3 wouldn't be sold at any of them."

He looked at her, and opened his mouth as if to say something; but then stopped.

She gave a lopsided grin.

After a moment, he just shook his head slightly.

"So—now that we have the stores—do we have the employees?"

She nodded.

"I'm running a comparison right now—to see if any of the names match up with what we already have," she checked her watch.  "Should just be a few more hours."

He inhaled slowly, looking at the paper.  After a moment, he looked at her.

"This is good—this is _real_ good."

She smiled broadly.

"Thanks."

He continued to look at her for a moment.  She noticed his stare.

"What?"

He just shook his head, a tiny smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey Gil—there you are.  Hey Sara."  The two looked towards the doorway.

"Hello—Jim," Grissom have a slight nod towards the detective.  Sara didn't say anything, she became suddenly fascinated with rearranging the papers on the table.

"Hey look—hope I'm not interrupting anything—but we've got permission to check out the vic's residence.  ASAP," he pointed towards his watch. 

Grissom nodded.

"I'll be right there."

"Don't be _too_ long," the detective smirked.  "I'll meet you outside in the lot—remember, _ASAP_."  He gave a slight wave as he exited the room.  

Grissom blinked a few times, then sighed.  He looked at Sara.

"Looks like we're needed."

She frowned slightly.

"We?"

He gave her a perplexed look.

"Aren't you going?"

"Wh—well—sure—I didn't—know—um—yea.  Sure.  Uh—lemme just get these out of here," she pushed the papers together rapidly.  He gave a small smile.

"I'll meet you outside in a few minutes then."

She pushed some hair behind her ear.

"Um—ok sure."  She stacked the files accordingly, then picked them up.  "Few minutes." 

He looked back at her as he stepped out the doorway.

"Ok."

His gaze followed her down the hallway.

All she could do was grin.  

* * * * *

"Next time—I pick the music," Nick picked up his silver briefcase, then slammed the door shut.

"Not as long as I'm drivin'," Warrick stuffed the keys in his pocket as he picked up his own briefcase.

"Fine—next time, I drive."

Warrick shook his head.

"Not if I can help it."

"What's wrong with my driving?"

He shrugged.

"Nothin'—it's the music you pick."  Warrick shook his head, as if trying to get rid of the memories.

Nick trudged along beside him through the tall grass.

"What's wrong with my music?"

"Nothin'—I just don't like it."

"Oh, wow—I see how that's fair—you get to listen to the stuff you like—but I don't—cuz you don't like it."

Warrick just nodded.

Nick grumbled something inaudible, but decided to drop it.  The eeriness of the graveyard was creeping up on him again.  He glanced around nervously.

"Wh-what are we lookin' for again—ouch."  He stopped in his tracks, and wiped something off his face.  "God damn bugs," he wiped his hand on his pant leg.  Warrick smiled a little.

"You shoulda brought bug spray."

Nick scowled.

"I did."

Warrick raised an eyebrow.

"So where is it?"

Nick thought for a moment.

"I guess I forgot it back in the truck."

"Nice genius."

He made a face at Warrick.

"Give me the keys and I'll run back and get it—c'mon Warrick."  He held out his hand.

"Oh, so you're gonna leave me all alone in a cemetery," he handed Nick the keys.  Nick nodded, a smile on his face.

"I'm sure you can handle it."

"Oh, I know I can—its you I'm worried about."  

Nick made another face, as he turned around in the path.  He looked over his shoulder.

"I'll be _ok_—just don't solve the case before me."

Warrick smirked.

"You better hurry then."

Nick shook his head as he picked up a slow jog, leaving his partner behind.

"Hey!  Don't forget my keys!"

Nick just waved the comment away with his free hand.  Running with the briefcase was a bit awkward. 

Warrick watched him for a moment, then shook his head as he turned and continued down the path.

As the street came into view, Nick slowed to a walk.  Breathing slightly heavier than he would have liked to, he switched the briefcase into his other hand; the keys still in his pocket.  He approached the vehicle, dropping the briefcase by the curb.  He quickly reached in and grabbed the keys.  

Upon opening the trunk, he searched for a few moments before finding the bug spray.  

"There you are," he said softly, grasping the canister.  He pulled it out from underneath a blanket.  Stepping a few feet away from the truck, he covered himself heavily with the repellant.  He could smell the tell tale fumes of the spray.  Oddly, it comforted him. 

After he was finished, he capped the bottle and tossed it back in the trunk.  Quickly checking to see if he had the keys, he closed the back door.  Wiping his hands, he stepped onto the curb, and towards the briefcase.

However, something caught his eye as he bent over to pick up the case.  He stood up slowly, peering over the path towards the cemetery.  Something didn't seem right.  He walked closer towards the path, leaving the briefcase behind.  He stood there for a moment at the top of the path, looking out on to the cemetery.  

It occurred to him after a moment—what was wrong.  He unclipped his radio from his belt.

"Warrick?"  He waited for a response.  It took a couple seconds.

"I'm here."

"Where are you?"

"Where I'm supposed to be—why?"  The static hissed in the background.

Nick squinted into the distance.

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_ I'm sure."

Nick frowned.

"What are you doing up there?"

He ignored the question.

"Hey look Warrick—can you do me a favor—I think I have a hunch."

It took a moment for the reply.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Look—shine your flashlight around—so I can see where you are."

"You're kidding right?"

"C'mon Warrick."

"Alright alright.  Shining flashlight—now."

Nick looked around to find it.  

"Do you see it?"

"Hold on—keep going."

After a moment—he saw the light.  It was coming from behind a small hill.

"Hey I found it—ok you can stop now."

The light disappeared. 

"Now care to tell me what that was all about?"

Nick grinned.

"I think we just found what we were looking for."

Warrick just looked at him.

"You keep saying that."

* * * * * 

Brass leaned against the door, turning the key.  He raised an eyebrow at the two CSI's.

"Hope you're not allergic to cats."

The two scientists looked at each other, both slightly confused.

Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"Cats?"

Brass opened the door a little.

"Yea—police report said she had two of 'em—hope you don't mind."

He opened the door fully, allowing the two scientists through first.  Sara looked at the detective as she went by.

"Cats—I don't mind cats."  Brass smiled a little.  Grissom just shook his head.

The three entered the tiny apartment.  Sara glanced around, flashlight in hand.  She looked at Grissom.

"What are we looking for?"

He looked around.

"Anything—evidence of a boyfriend—friends—you know, the usual."

She nodded.

"The usual."

She stepped towards the entertainment center, as Grissom headed over to the bookcase.  Brass clapped his hands together.

"I'll go check with the land lord—see if our vic had any 'regular visitors'," he took a step out the door, then looked back in the room.  "Remember, don't leave with out me."

Grissom gave him a Look.  Sara flat out ignored him.  The detective just shook his head as he left.

Sara looked over the entertainment center.  The shelving unit caught her attention.

"Hmm—seems our vic was a movie buff," she squinted at the titles.  "There's easily over sixty here."

Grissom looked over at her.

"DVD or VHS?"

She smiled.

"Both."

He just nodded.

"Looks like more DVD though."

He nodded absently.

"It is the future you know."

She ran her finger along the titles.

"Die Hard Trilogy—Hudson Hawk—The Last Boy Scout—Armageddon—The Sixth Sense—," she looked over at Grissom.  "She was a Bruce Willis fan—,"a small smile on her face.  "Good choice."

"What?"

She looked back at him.

"O-o nothing.   Making a mental note ya know," she spoke quickly.  He gave her an odd look.  She gave him a weird smile, then hastily looked back the shelf.

Her eyes traveled over the movies, then on to the CD's.  As she stood there, reading the titles, Grissom walked across the room, towards the entertainment center where she was standing.  She gave him a sideways glance.  He was looking around the TV, his eyes scanning the shelf on which it sat.

"Hmm—'The Stranger'," she took the CD out of the shelf.  She flipped it over slowly, looking at it intently.  He glanced down at what she was holding.  "This was a good CD—," she put the case back.  "A classic."

She sighed, thinking for a moment.

She blinked a few times.

"The concert was better though."

He paused, glancing at her.

A smile formed at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes—yes it was."

She smiled to herself as she looked over the final two shelves.  They held the rest of the CD's.  Crouching down, she looked at the bottom shelf.  Again, nothing but videos.

She sighed standing up.

"I've got nothin' over here—what's that?"

Grissom was now holding a framed photo.

She peered over his shoulder at it.  It was a picture of their victim, Elizabeth, and someone else.  A male.

"Hmm—maybe it's her brother."

He gave a Look.  

"Then why was it facing down?  On top of this shelf?"

She looked at the top shelf—it was fairly high off the ground.

"Ok—sounds like it was someone she was trying to forget."

He nodded.

"Out of sight—out of mind."

She watched him stare at the photo.

"So what?  Ex-boyfriend maybe?"

He thought for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek.

He looked at her.

"Maybe.  Or perhaps—something more?"


End file.
